Thunder Dome one of many hiccups

She takes the affection in stride, nose sifting through the alabaster furs of her nape. Varinril stills, curious of her findings. There's a wound there, dripping lightly. What blood has accumulated is scant in comparison to the offender's injuries. Still, her scruff is greatly sensitive, and she makes this known as Mallaidh tends to it as best she can with hissing breathes. It's painful, yes, but necessary. Clarity returns to her, gradually, with each stroke of the girl's tongue. And when she speaks, Varinril is attentive.

"You're right," she says as she slowly stands, leaning against the rocky face. Her stance becomes surer with time until she is standing on her own. Something keeps her rooted to that spot, even as her lightening struck friend jostles at her side. When she opens her mouth, her voice carries.

"Mallaidh." A sharp tone meant to draw the girl's attention. And once she has that attention, Varinril's face melts, apologetic. She was still on the mend, trying to reacquire her typical, modest ego. Sorry. I'm sorry. "Don't tell anyone about this. About...how I..." Broke down? Feeble. You always break. "You guarded me against a dickhead. That's it." With that firm assertion out of the way, she turns to face the girl fully, eyes expectant.

"Lead the way."

(When the sun slips behind the horizon, Varinril profusely apologizes for her brusque attitude. She also thanks Mallaidh for coming to her rescue. She does this until sleep claims them.)